Chapter 13: Daddy Cool

"Good morning, Cincinnati! This is Lincoln Ware on the air, and I have the latest news and weather coming up, but first this hot new track by—"

I reached over and slapped off the radio angrily. Then I stretched taking a moment to relish the lack of pain in various body parts.

When I heard the front door open and close, I knew that Mama had gone off to work. I jumped up and started getting ready. I used Mama's makeup, which was perfect for me because we had the exact same skin tone. I wasn't going for night at the disco but for clean and natural so I lightly lined my eyes, used a bit of plumb shadow, mascara, and a neutral gloss on my lips. For my hair I grabbed a colorful scarf and framed my face with it so that it held my 'fro back to poof out from behind.

I dressed in the gray jersey dress and placed a loose-fitting belt around my waist to rest low on my hip. Mom had some sandals that laced up so that even though my feet were smaller I could adjust the size.

I didn't dare mess with her perfume, but I did put on some of her big gold hoop earrings and several bangles. I grabbed two Pop-Tarts and before heading out the door I donned a pair of my mom's sunglasses.

Yeah, bitches. Here I come.

Most of the kids were already at the bus stop when I walked up. I didn't need them to tell me that I looked good because I knew I did, but I appreciated the silent gawking. Bernice snapped her fingers and whistled.

"You go, girl!"

"Yo, Kenya!" I looked at a young black guy who had been calling me out of my name just the day before. Now he was gesturing to himself and silently asking me to notice him. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at him but didn't speak. After a moment, everyone began laughing at him but no one laughed at me.

When I got to school I got plenty of looks and catcalls, but this time it was the good kind. Someone even said "Dayum!" I heard "Yo, Kenya," a lot and requests to give out my phone number. Someone called me stuck-up, but it was because I ignored them. I grinned to myself. I had conquered one goal.

When I got home I changed and washed off my makeup, hiding all the evidence. I didn't think what I was doing was really a big deal, but that crazy lady who raised me was unreasonable. I didn't want to take any chances.

I remembered that on the weekends I sometimes visited the houses of some of the girls I went to school with. In my memory those times always seemed awkward to me. I had always been a loner, latching on to one or two good friends at a time. So being relegated to my room wasn't that big a deal. I grabbed a book from Mama's Donald Goines collection. It was Daddy Cool. Her dog-eared paperbacks had disappeared at some point in my past, including an autographed copy of a book by Sam Greenlee called The Spook Who Sat by the Door. I used to be a voracious reader, but I had lost the time to sit and enjoy a good book. In my youth I read any and everything from my mother's collection of "Black books" to Jackie Collins, American classics such as The Great "Boring" Gatsby, The Catcher in the Rye, and To Kill a Mockingbird.

I opened up to the first page of the book, reading as I walked back to my room. I propped my pillow behind my head and got comfortable in bed as Daddy Cool stalked his prey.

I was just getting to the part when Daddy Cool was showcasing his knife skills when I heard Mama's car pull up into the driveway. I looked out my bedroom window and saw her dart out of her car and quickly dash up to the house.

I chuckled to myself, lay back in bed, and continued to read until Mama busted into my room with an "Aha!" expression on her face.

I looked up at her from over the top of the book. "Hi, Mama."

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for something—drugs, a boy who knows?

Her shoulders sank a little and she rubbed her forehead. She looked like she was stressed out. She was only in her late thirties, an age I remembered well, before I started feeling old.

"Look…I'm taking you off your punishment," she said. "I can't punish you for something that I can't prove."

I put down my book and sat up. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

She gave me a strange look and left the room.

Mama didn't exactly believe in allowances. But if we did our chores, kept up our grades, and didn't get into trouble, when she got her check she would give us five dollars. Five dollars wasn't much, but it did allow me to buy a few trinkets or something to eat on the rare occasion when I did hang out with my friends.

I grabbed my purse and heard Mama on the telephone.

"Can I go over to Bernice's house?" I asked.

She glanced at me. "Hold on a second, Mama."

Mama…was talking to Grandma! My mouth dropped and my eyebrows lifted. Oh my God! Grandma was still alive!

"You can go out, Kenya, but I want you home before dark."

I stood there looking at her. "C-can you tell grandma I said…" Oh God, I love you, I miss you, why didn't I touch your hands more? Why didn't I ask for more stories? Why did you have to get sick and die? I cleared my throat and managed to continue. "Can you tell Grandma that I said hi?"

"Kenya says hi, Mama…and Mama says hello, Kenya."

I felt a smile on my face because I had one last treasured hello from my grandma.

I went outside and walked down the street to the bus stop. I couldn't save Grandma from death. She got pneumonia one year and died unexpectedly. But my brother was a different matter. I intended to save him from himself.

Kush worked at a White Castle on MLK Way. He had been working there since he was sixteen and would continue working there until he got fired for missing too much work. That would be in another year. He would be an addict by then, but things would get worse after he got fired. For the most part he had been able to support his addiction with this job. Afterwards he started stealing. He obviously wasn't a good thief and ended up in and out of jail. Jail turned him into a worse person. He would move in with Mama when he was out of jail and eat through her money while she protected him. Enabling our children ran in the family.

Mama lost her house when Kush jumped bail on an armed robbery charge. No one knew that she had put it up for his bail. It broke Mama's heart more to see her son serve his longest jail sentence than to lose the house she had raised us in.

But now I understood. I would have probably done the same for Julian--and still might one day knowing what I know.